Alpha Went Crazy After He Killed Elf Mate
He knew all of it.
And he avoided every one. He hit only my face — the place least likely to kill me, most likely to humiliate me, and most likely to make me cry.
The tears came.
Because I remembered — at sixteen, his first heat-cycle, he had lost control and clawed open my cheek. For three months after, he slept every night in the tree outside my window, too afraid to come in. He had never once raised a hand to me. Not until tonight.
The old maid lunged forward with the cup, caught the drop, carried it to Ophelia's lips. Ophelia was unconscious, but her mouth still pursed instinctively to swallow it.
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